Thomas Campion (1567-1620)

CD selections (restricted) from
Campion: Ayres
Drew Minter, countertenor/ Paul O'Dette, lute
Harmonia Mundi USA 907023
Harmonia Mundi "Classical Express" 3957023


"Fire, fire, fire"  (MP3)

Fire, fire, fire, fire 
Loe here I burne in such desire 
That all the teares that I can straine 
Out of mine idle empty braine 
Cannot allay my scorching paine. 
    Come Trent and humber, and fayre Thames, 
    Dread Ocean, haste with all thy streames: 
    And, if you cannot quench my fire, 
    O drowne both mee and my desire.    Fire fire, fire, fire 
There is no hell to my desire: 
See, all the Rivers backward flye, 
And th' Ocean doth his waves deny, 
For feare my heate should drinke them dry. 
    Come heav'nly showres then, pouring downe; 
    Come, you that once the world did drowne: 
    Some then you spar'd but now save all, 
    That else must burne, and with mee fall. 

"So tyr'd are all my thoughts" (MP3)

So tyr'd are all my thoughts, that sence and spirits faile;
Mourning I pine, and know not what I ayle.
O what can yeeld ease to a minde,
    Joy in nothing that can finde?

How are my powres fore-spoke? what strange distaste is this?
Hence, cruell hate of that which sweetest is:
Come, come delight, make my dull braine
    Feele once heate of joy againe.

The lovers teares are sweet, their mover makes them so;
Proud of a wound the bleeding Souldiers grow:
Poore I alone, dreaming, endure
    Griefe that knowes nor cause, nor cure.

And whence can all this grow? even from an idle minde,
That no delight in any good can finde.
Action alone makes the soule blest:
    Vertue dyes with too much rest.

“It fell on a sommers day” (MP3)

It fell on a sommers day,
While sweete Bessie sleeping laie
In her bowre, on her bed,
Light with curtaines shadowed;
Jamy came, shee him spies,
Opning halfe her heavie eies.

Jamy stole in through the dore,
She lay slumbring as before;
Softly to her he drew neere,
She heard him, yet would not heare;
Bessie vow'd not to speake,
He resolv'd that dumpe to breake.

First a soft kisse he doth take,
She lay still, and would not wake;
Then his hands learn'd to woo,
She dreamp't not what he would doo,
But still slept, while he smild
To see love by sleepe beguild.

Jamy then began to play,
Bessie as one buried lay,
Gladly still through this sleight
Deceiv'd in her owne deceit;
And, since this traunce begoon,
She sleepes ev'rie afternoone.